


with my reddened wings

by boys_in (kaleidosphere)



Series: HenryWeek2020 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Multi, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27474901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidosphere/pseuds/boys_in
Summary: free as a bird.
Relationships: Henry & Licht | Ricken, Henry/Licht | Ricken
Series: HenryWeek2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007532
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	with my reddened wings

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for Day 1 of [HenryWeek2020!](https://twitter.com/HenryWeek2020) The prompt is "crows" and I had a lot of fun experimenting with this one. My plan is to write a lot of shipfic for Henry, but also a few solo pieces here and there. Check out the [the rest of the tag on twitter,](https://twitter.com/hashtag/HenryWeek2020?src=hashtag_click) and let's give Henry some more love!

"Ricken, Ricken, Ricken, Ricken—"

"What are you doing?" Ricken cut him off, tone curt but not unkind. He was used to this sort of arrangement now: Henry doing ridiculous things (like repetitively chanting Ricken's own name) and Ricken acting exasperated towards him (when he secretly didn't mind in the first place, but far be it from Ricken to let Henry know that).

Henry smiled wide, eyes narrowed down to the blackest slits. "I'm chanting your name, silly!"

"...And _why_ are you doing that?" Ricken adjusted the hat on his head with one hand, using the other to steady the Wind tome he'd been practicing with. "I'm right here, you know."

"I know. I like your name, so I just felt like saying it!" Henry precariously balanced on his tip toes, feet traipsing some invisible tightrope that Ricken couldn't see. "Is that a bad thing?"

"I guess not." Ricken rubbed at his nose, slightly red. "I just—you said it so suddenly, I thought you wanted something from me."

"If I _did_ want something, would you give it to me?"

He blinked once, twice, then gawked. "W-What?"

Henry looked serious, now, his smile lessening ever-so-slightly, but not completely disappearing. "If I wanted something from you, Ricken, would you give it to me?"

Ricken never expected this kind of question from Henry. Though the dark mage was naturally curious, he acted in ways that made him seem awkwardly selfless and hilariously selfish at once—refusing medical treatment and the well-wishes of others but also prodding people for assistance in dark spells or their viewership of his latest magical experiment. He poked and bruised but avoided lacerations and blood, in ways that Ricken was sure could never be avoided. And his hands, oh, his hands! How dirty and sullied they must be after everything had been said and done, yet how soft and gentle they were when, time and time again, Henry used his minimal skills to heal minor wounds or keep Ricken's broken body together until someone more experienced came along and fixed it for him.

There were so many thoughts yet none at all, and Ricken found himself speechless.

He stumbled to say, "I, uh, um—I guess it depends on what you need."

"Hmm~" Henry's smile intensified. Ricken felt chills in the hollows of his heart. "I see."

"Did you need something?"

"From you?"

A nod. "From me."

"Can you watch me perform my latest spell? It's a small variation—the tiniest deviation from something I already know—but, like, I need someone to _see_ it." Henry splayed his arms wide, as if to show off something hidden in his sleeve. Yet no tricks were displayed, just his wiry frame hidden beneath smooth silks, belying his weakness and strength at once. "So will you see it?"

"Of course," Ricken agreed. "Your spellwork is probably some of the best I've seen." And there was no joke or hidden meaning to that one—Henry wasn't the Shepherds' most renowned dark mage (along with Tharja) for nothing!

His reputation preceded him, a fact that brought a spark of pride to his normally placid face. "Hehe, alright then. Better prepare yourself, though! This one's a doozy."

"I'm sure."

Then the strangest thing happened: Henry climbed the nearest tree. Ricken and Henry were together in the woods nearby the Shepherds' latest camp, so they could practice magic unbothered (the last time they stayed in camp, they blew up Lon'qu's tent with some misplaced fire magic—that wasn't pretty), but Ricken hadn't expected Henry to embrace nature for all it was.

Yet, as he scaled the tree, effortlessly hopping from one branch to the next, Ricken thought that he was as every part of nature as the tree itself. Stable, whole, and strong. When otherwise, he'd been so weak, indecisive, and feeble-minded.

Ricken gasped quietly, brown eyes affixed at the sight of Henry, white and black and purple all over, going higher and higher, still, until he was obscured by the height and the angle of the fading sun.

He stopped at the highest point, and stared down at Ricken with eyes open, for once—black voids scintillating with mischief and _hope._ It was a new expression on Henry, Ricken decided: expressiveness a new idea to the dark mage in general, but that was a separate issue from this. Whatever _this_ was. If Ricken had to describe it, then it was strange, awkward, yet expected, magical, and mystical. Powerful, even.

_Holy._

Henry grinned. Was it possible for someone's face to split at the edges from smiling so much? And when had the gleam in his eyes been so mesmerizing, among other things? Ricken held his breath as Henry breathed into the air.

"Watch me _fly."_

Some part of Ricken was worried, startled, afraid—left to wonder if he messed up along the way, and if he was paying the price for it now. What was the price, exactly? And why did _he_ have to pay for it? Was he meant to witness this right now? Were his hands meant to cast Wind, in order to stop a friend from flying?

From _falling?_

"Henry, wait—don't do what I think you're gonna do—"

"I'll be okay."

" _Henry."_ They had this conversation before, as painful as it was. A conversation where Henry stated that his own life was meaningless, and where Ricken—shocked, appalled, scared, afraid, angry, confused, sad—insisted that wasn't the case. It felt like a step backwards in their lives, like some awful fragment of their wholeness was ripped away, as if the horrid war left any space for healing or wholeness, in the first place.

Yet as Henry stood there at the precipice, feet dancing along the thinness of the branch, fingers fleeting as if wings of their own, just _desperate_ to break free, Ricken couldn't fight the urge rising in his stomach—unease travelling from his core to his chest.

From his soul to his heart.

"Please don't!" he cried out. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't get hurt," Henry reassured. He sounded so certain of it, like he was above pain and even more so, _death._ As if the shadows that haunted him were of a different ilk, telling him that stunts like these were appropriate, given the right amount of sadism, bloodlust, and daring. Given Ricken's fearful gaze, wide-eyed, lips quivering, arms trembling as he fought for the right thing to do.

What _was_ the right thing to do?

Henry didn't know. He was much like the birds he admired—free and flighty, unable to stay grounded for long enough. To be grounded, he thought, was to have the greatest ending of them all. "I'm not going to end," he suddenly said aloud. "It only ends if you stop watching me."

"Henry—"

"So don't stop watching me, Ricken. Keep your eyes on me, and only me."

"I-Is that a threat?"

"No," Henry insisted. His smile was wide but softer, somehow, the flames in his eyes dulled down to sparks. "It's a promise."

Ricken couldn't remember what he said in response. He only remembered what Henry did after the fact.

He watched with horrid interest as Henry spread his arms wide, bringing his hands together in a slow motion, limbs inward as if holding something sacred close to his chest. The promise he made, perhaps, or the feeling of looking down and seeing the earth in two forms: the rural nature of the forest floor below him, and the look of fear in Ricken's eyes—dark and looming.

He would've fallen face first if it hadn't been for the gust of wind, tousling his hair and whipping his cape, acting as the last feather to his scale and tipping it over entirely. Henry, much like a feather himself, twisted in the air, back turned to the earth as he fell over, feet and hands finally relinquishing the last move in the dance shared with the trees—leaves and stems twisting off with him, a zephyr accompanied by Ricken's horrific gasp, with his Wind tome pages spinning all the while.

Before any spell could be cast, however, something changed.

Henry's colors of purple, gold, and white began to fade, then darken. A column of dazzling white light enveloped him, the shadow of his form disappearing in its brightness—bright enough to be significant, but not intense enough to be blinding. Ricken couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight: Henry's cape and clothes furling into each other, body morphing into some amalgamous shape, with no defining features of the dark mage that had once been.

Instead, the shadows morphed and morphed, coming together into something much more smaller, angular and sleek.

Something _black._

In a flurry of midnight-feathers and moonlit wings, where there was once a man, now flew in the sky the shape of a _bird,_ small but swift, dipping into mid-air spirals sporadically, only to rise and soar gracefully once more.

A crow.

Its cry pierced the heavens as it—as _Henry_ —flew ever skyward, going higher and higher until he was a black smear in the cloudy sky.

Ricken heard what sounded like murmurs of the heart. Whose heart, Ricken's or Henry's? Did it matter? Was there a difference? He heard the words _I'm free, I'm free, I'm free!_ followed by _I'm going away, far away, so my ink stains can dry, so everything is different and all I have to do is say goodbye._

 _Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!_ A strong presence-like magic filled the air, and Ricken's own veins began to pump electricity as blood, his heart hammering against his chest. He raised his hand unknowingly, fingers alight with some inner magic not yet summoned by his tome.

 _Don't go,_ he wanted to scream at Henry, but didn't. _Don't leave me._

_Don't say goodbye!_

His wish formed as light in his hands, shooting upward in a thin stream of color, parting the clouds as it reached the heavens and beyond. Henry, in crow form, balked at the display, animalistic voice coming to an indiscriminate pitch as he screeched in reply. His wings spread out as his body began to react to the wish, the purity, the _light_ that counteracted his own. And bit by bit, he began to descend, until the shadows enveloped him once more.

Reverting him back to human form, as Ricken would horrifically witness wings growing into arms, legs becoming long and wiry instead of clawed and taloned, white hair brightening from the dark plumage.

A swath of Plegian silks replacing what were once feathers, swaddling Henry in its softness and shape. He looked every bit the crow he once was, dark and alluring as he'd always been.

Then Ricken remembered himself, remembered Henry, remembered what was happening, and— "Henry!" he shouted. " _Henry!"_

His spellbook opened on its own, pages frantically flipping until a controlled gust of air propelled Ricken forward, arms poised to _catch him,_ consequences be damned!

His fingertips outstretched, eyes widened, heart racing, until—

Until, in the midst of the air, he felt something _weighty_ and _grounded._

Ricken felt the force of Henry crashing into his arms, body colliding with his own, head buried into the crook of his neck and shoulder, eyes shut against the swirling vortex of air and light around them.

Ricken sobbed as he held tightly onto him, fingers digging into the silks of his skin, eyes also closed as he didn't want to see what it looked like when they finally fell.

When they finally _broke._

.

.

The next time Ricken opened his eyes, he saw Henry lying in the dirt beside him, entirely unharmed except for the dirt and grass mangled in his outfit. His eyes were closed peacefully, as if asleep, chest slowly rising and falling (and reminding Ricken that he really ought to help him out with his weak heartbeat one day, as Frederick constantly reminded him).

Ricken reached out to touch him, possessed by some whimsy, or maybe a spirit of the forest that took pity on the two of them, in all their endangered stupidity.

When his hand found Henry's skin, soft and undamaged, Ricken bit back a sob, his previous fears washed away by a wave of relief that somewhere, some way, some _how_ they'd gotten out of that debacle _alive._ Unchanged.

Still free.

Ricken smiled as he brought his hand closer to Henry, only to be shocked a moment later when he felt the other stir.

"What did I tell you?" Henry murmured tiredly, eyes closed against Ricken's gentle touch. "I won't get hurt."

"Idiot," Ricken admonished, but his tone was severely lacking in any disdain whatsoever. "You have _me_ to thank for that."

"Oh? I guess I have to make it up to you, then."

"And how exactly are you going to do that?"

Henry's eyes opened, and though his darkened stare was no match for the lightness in Ricken's heart, it was strong and alluring, nonetheless. "I'll make you fly, too."

It was a stupid statement, but Ricken, too exhausted by their stunt or too dazed to care, replied in equal naivety. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

He received his answer in the form of a kiss, so sudden and soft and slow, Ricken felt the shackles on his own self loosening, the coil in his chest undoing itself until all he felt was raw, real emotion. All he felt was _Henry,_ bones and skin and _warmth,_ coming closer to him, closing the distance between them, Ricken desperate and happy and hungry for more. It was freeing, touching him like this, so careful and gentle but also passionate and energetic, in every way passion and energy could be felt. And the fear from before transformed into excitement, heart racing and thrashing at what the future might look like after this—feathers drifting apart as the rest of him took off.

Free as a bird.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading this far! I appreciate any kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc. that you guys give me. Be safe and stay awesome!


End file.
